The Big Sandy news. [volume] (Louisa, Ky.) 1885-1929, 1887-05-05

with their pale beauty and faint fragrance,
90 associated with springtime at the gay
capital.
The Salon is crowded with visltora, and a
little group is collected GROUND a painting
which seems 10 attract universal attention.
Mrs. Clarke and Lindsay Bell saunter care
lessly about awaiting their turn with some
curiosity to discover what is the attraction.
"Do YOU know the subject, Lindsay"
Mrs. Bell refers to her catalogue.
"No. 10. "A Moonlight Partingp
Before she notes the artists name the
group disperses and they step up TO SEQ
} WHAT A desolate hillside, with higher
hills beyond; sunken graves; fallen stones;
brambles and fiery tiger-lilics. Under
densely dark cedar tree stand a man and a
woman hand-in-hand; deep, ghostly shad,
ows lie around them; pale moonlight
makes 1t clear enough 10 see that the
woman is OF lovely form and features, that
the man is fair and young. That the part
ing is hopeless and forever, one may easily
divine,
The twoufriends stand before the picture
as the others have done, as II spellbopnd.
ut is most fascinating; and some way
feel as II l had been there says Mrs.
Clarke musingly. II must have seen some
place like it somewhere; and from the
depth of the autumn coloring seen so dis
tinctly through the half light, l should say
the scene was in America. Don't you think
so, Lindsayin
Lindsay's eyes are softly shining her
voice shakes little as she answers. Yes,
you have seen 1.-THE old cemetery at Rove
ville-and, see here, the artists name IL
Arthur .Yinton.
Mrs. Clarke drops her gold-bound pinoe-
nez in surprise not unmingled with alarm
s'That young mechanic, the errand boy you
employed to carry your clay Is II posi-.
blei Well, well, this is indeed q republican
age, when potters turn into artists and have
pictures hung in the Salonw
"0hl Minnie, don't be nonsensical,"
laughs her friend, lightly. "Haye you for
gotten all the list OF celebrities who were
not by any means born in the purplei
wonder if he will call l shall send our
cards and address to-day. am most anxious
to see him.
| Mrs. Clarke murmurs indistinct disap
proval, while she studies the canvas.
''Others are waiting says Lindsay con-
siderately; ''let us move on and come back
after while"
"But these figures remind me of-of-you,
and the-I hesitate to express it-but really,
my dear, the artist seems to have pictured
himself as parting from your
Perhaps you are right replied Mrs.
1 Bell quietly, ..as thought noticed it too"
surely, Lindsay
"Well, Minniein
SIS this scene from lifei memoryw
.'Partly so, admit; but the artist, as is
usual with the craft, has idealized IL little,
thrown in touch of telling sentiment in
the attitudes, and all that There, Minnie,
don't fret. He is very likely the pet lion of
Paris just now, and II he goes on as he has
begun, he will continue TO be. feel very
pleased at his success"
Mrs. Clarke finds nothing moro TO say;
and when, in speedy answer TO the invita-
ton, Mr.. Vinton calls, and she meets him
at all the best houses on the Faubourg ST.
German, as well as on Avenue Villiers and
by Pare Monceau, she conveniently forgets
the shabby pottery, with its big chimneys,
and altogether refuses to remember that
the yellow-haired young workman and the
fair, pose, even distinguished gentleman,
whose presence is sought as q favor, are
one and the same.
Lindsay too, is beginning to lose one
| identity in the other; but Mr.. Vinton never
| forgets. He is courteous, attentive, always
ready to escort the ladies here or there; but
he never establishes himself en- ami intDe,
and retires quietly when any one else is
there to take his place. At last Lindsay be-
gins to feel this, and she is sorry for it. Her
manner grows kinder; but he does not ad-
vance an inch. The round of gayety con-
tinues without cessation until there comes
rainy day. II is no ordinary blossom
storm, but rather a tempest; the wind
drives by wailing and bowling like hurri-
cane. The trees writhe and bend, and the
gay tdrteyres are hopelessly spoiled; pansies,
myosotis, and fragrant lilies OF the valley
are beaten into the mud beyond all recog-
milton.
Mrs Clarke is laid up with mi9rdine, and
Lindsay sits alone in her pretty drawing
room, consoling herself as she can by a
bright wood lire, with books and work; but
she feels dull. After living out OF doors so
much, she finds whole days confinement
insupportable She is yawning dismally
when Mr.. Vinton is announced, and she re-
ceives him with an exclamation Of Joy.
~ know the dullness of rainy day in
this city," he says pleasantly, land so have
come to try to beguile your eBHui; for you
must admit that you were epHuy0 saw
it plainly from your rapture at my appear
ance."
II was little bored, to be sure,n she
confesses naively; "but l am always glad
to see you, Mr.. Vinton.n What have you
there, your portfolio oh how good of
you to venture with it through all this
storm"
81 came in cab; your porte-cochere re-
ceived me under its hospitable shelter, and
here am, safe and dry How pleasant
your fire is am sorry TO hear that Mrs.
Clarke is indisposed.
Eyes, headache"
Lindsay draws forw ard low table, and
for the next hour they bend together over
the pictures; she questioning, criticising,
commenting, he explaining and OCCASION
ally asking her opinion or advice for the
working out Of studies. At last she stoops
lower over picture she holds, and exam
ines IL in silence, while he watches her
with shade OF anxiety. But she ventures
no remark, merely laying 1t down with
heightened color; then shyly glancing up
she meets his eyes, and the warm blood
rushes over face and neck while she puts
| up her hands ia confusion to hide her fam
ing cheeks.
"You understand the subjectr he in
quires collectedly, without noticing her en-
barrassment
Eyes, it illustrates verse from The Nut
Browne Maybe y
sAnd you pardon me for giving her your
likeness, Indeed, could not helpit. Per
haps deserve your censure for thus paint
| ing you from memory without your permits
sion. II so, l am here at your mercy Scold
me, and 1 will beg your forgiveness
His manner piques her. "Why did you do
iti'' she demands rashly.
eCan you ask me that, Mrs. Bells Surely
you know that love you, though you may
"a baron's daughter be- while remain but
| "a squire of low degree too far beneath
you ever to hope for any notice beyond your
| kind condescension."
Lindsay is silent.
"May have this picture:7 she asks at